Freckles
by ubiquitousantiquitous
Summary: Bullock is fascinated by the Sirens' home. Selina is fascinated with the floor. Harley is fascinated by Ivy's freckles. Ivy is sick of being den mother.


Anonymous: Teeth-rottingly fluffy prompt: Harley is fascinated by the freckles on Pam's skin (mostly cause I love the fact that you draw them on her).

thiS IS THE CUTEST? OH MY goD YES?

When Ivy answered the knock on the door of the Sirens' hideout, she was prepared to come face-to-face with Selina Kyle, but not _this _Selina Kyle.

"I'm happy to report," she grinned toothily, "that I've returned your kid back in one piece, ma'am."

Pam pinched her nose. "You smell like a bar."

"Uh-uh, _that_ bar smells like _me_." She leaned droopily against the doorframe, her leather jacket falling off one shoulder. There was one thing to say for Selina; she was a happy drunk. "I threw up all over the bartender, poor girl. You should've come."

"Mm-hm," Ivy arched a brow. Though all three Sirens were on at least amiable terms, it was blatant knowledgeable fact that Ivy was good friends with Harley, and Selina was good friends with Harley, but Ivy and Selina were a touch more on the colleague side—not that they couldn't throw back a shot of vodka or two when left alone. "And, just where is this fully intact child of ours?"

"Hi, hi, Red!" Harley jumped up from behind Selina, her nose red in that trademark "I'm totally _blitzed_, Red!" fashion. "Guess what?"

Pam, smiling in spite of herself, opened the door, eyes closed as she laughed. "What?"

"I got arrested!"

Pam's eyes flew open and there were Selina, Harley, and Detective Bullock, all merrily standing on their _private _front porch. Well, Bullock not so merrily. He stood with one of those toothpicks he had in never-ending supply in mouth, leering at the building's face, before gawking appreciatively at the interior—then at Ivy, standing in her bathrobe. Pam covered up with as much tame dignity she could muster.

"Nice digs," he said finally.

"Red, Red, Red!" Harley kept bouncing. If Selina was a happy drunk, then the first few hours of Harley wasted was like handing a cocktail of speed and acid to an old MGM cartoon character. "Shut up and listen to what I have to say! So, me and Catty here, we went to the bar –hic- right? After, like, five shots of tequila I started feeling _really _good. So we went down to the police station!"

Pam, groaning internally, shifted. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," Selina slurred, watching her hands as she flexed her fingers, studying them curiously. "Harls had a _goooood _time."

"Let me tell it!" Harley shoved Selina. It wasn't hard at all, but Selina fell face-first with a thud to the floor. She didn't get up, and no one moved to get her. She seemed all right enough. "So's we go down to the station, right? Then Selina was like 'yo, betcha can't climb up the side' and I was like, 'uh, _yeah_, watch me,' but I didn't get to start, because Detective Cheekbones—"

"Montoya," Bullock clarified.

"Gee, really? I thought she was talking about you, Detective Beefcakes," Pam drawled lazily, wanting to go inside and towel off. Luckily, it couldn't be anything too horrible, because both arrestees were standing right there, and Bullock hadn't produced a warrant. She wondered why he was lingering, however. "Go on, Harl. Finish your story."

"Yah!" Harley grabbed one of Pam's arms; Pam nearly lost her grip on the robe, but stabilized it again, glaring daggers at dear old Detective Meatloaf. "So, Detective Hot Chick—"

"I thought she was Cheekbones!" Bullock interjected.

"You have no lines in this play!" Harley snapped. "Hot Chick takes me inside—she's _real _nice when she ain't got her gun on ya, Red. We should invite her over for dinner or somethin'. Anyways, so she calls us a cab, but then Commissioner _Gordon _came in, and I told him his mustache was stupid."

Pam shut her eyes tightly. "Oh?"

"She also said his hair looks like a duck's butt!" Selina chimed in from the ground.

Pam's eyes shut so tight her forehead twitched. "_Oh?_"

"Then I got real sorry," Harley pouted, "and I asked him if he wanted a hug."

Pam wondered if her eyes would ever open again. "_OH?_"

"And he said _no. _And I had apologized and everything. He said it was 'inappropriate behavior.' So's I tell him it _shouldn't _be inappropriate, cuz he's married with a kid, and that he should be ashamed. Then he got mad and I kissed him right on the mouth because my throat was tired of saying sorry."

That did it; her eyes would have to be surgically opened if she ever wanted to see again. "_**OH?**_"

"Then Selina started scaling from the first floor to the second using her grappling hook—I _swear _I didn't know she took it with her tonight."

"I thought I saw a spider," Selina stated. "I was trying to get away from it."

Though her eyes were closed, Pam could _feel _Bullock's smug smile on his face. _This _was why he'd stuck around; to see three villainesses humiliated without having to lift a finger.

"And then Batman showed up, and Commish was like 'hey, do something,' then Batman said, 'yo, they're already at the station.'"

Selina snorted. "_Wish _he'd said 'yo,' I'd pay money to hear him tryin' to talk cool."

"And then Tubby-Wubby over here says 'take them to Arkham,' but Batman—I shit ya not, I couldn't make this shit up, such good shit—_smirked _and said, 'sorry, bruh, they drunk they ain't crazy.' And then he left, and Batgirl kicked me in the face, and now we're here."

"Why'd she kick you in the face?" Pam blinked.

Selina was now rolling on the ground, laughing.

"You can leave now, Detective," _you've made us suffer enough_.

Pam nudged Harley through the door, and then helped Selina to her feet. Selina, grinning, nuzzled her head into the crook of Pam's neck as one of her cats would.

"Bruce, you should really cut your hair," Selina yawned as Pam deposited the lush onto the nearest sofa.

"Why is it I always end up _den _mother around you two?" Pam huffed to no one, honestly, because Harley was busy entering her second phase of drunkenness: moping.

"Red," she said pitifully from the floor where she sat in a heap, looking like a ditched prom date in her pretty blue dress. Ivy personally always thought it Harley's color. She held her shoe in hand. "My _shoe_ broke."

Pam clucked her tongue with a shake of her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Pick me up and carry me to bed?" Harley suggested, hopefulness in her tone.

"That," Pam knelt, taking Harley in her arms, "I can do."

With some effort. She was strong, but carrying a full body up a flight of stairs and all the way to their bedroom was another matter entirely. Still, in this state, it was best to give in to Harley as much as possible, otherwise the waterworks started. Pam could admit, begrudgingly, that she oft had her moods when she too could get quite blubbery, but not as frequently as her girl.

"Wait," Harley put a hand to Pam's chest. In her current state, it might not have been intentional, but she definitely had Pam's entire boob in her hand. Pam blushed. "I don't wanna stink up the sheets 'cause I smell like beer."

"I thought you had vodka."

"Yeah," Harley nodded, "and beer. Gimme a bath? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?" She giggled. "Well, not _now_, but maybe later when I'm less tipsy."

Pam rolled her eyes. _Tipsy_ was not the word. "Sure thing, _sugar_."

"And also I think Selina's puke got on me, too."

Pam shuddered. Her night was just going so well.

Usually, when the bath was being used by Harley and Ivy, they were injured, or they were in it together, or a combination of the two. There'd been many times they'd come back from a heist so achy from the effort that they'd piled in just because they were ready to rid themselves of some of the pain; sometimes, it didn't even progress past that. They washed—though, admittedly, usually each other—got dressed, and went to bed.

When there was only one occupant, and the other was scrubbing their hair, it was usually vice versa. When her S.A.D. kicked in, Pam favored the bath, drowning herself in perhaps some unconscious effort to better herself like a plant. When plants got dry and shriveled, they responded best to watering. That was her reasoning. Harley understood that.

"Thanks, Red." Harley sighed, up to her shoulders in steaming water as Pam worked the shampoo through her hair—all natural, specially formulated in her greenhouse lab. There was no way Pam was going to allow Harley to wallow in the chemical excrement consumerist America called _shower gel_. The very thought made her shudder. "You shoulda come with."

"I don't get drunk as easily as you and Selina," Pam answered mildly. "Pinch your nose, I'm going to rinse."

Harley couldn't keep water out of her nostrils to save her life. When they went swimming, she used the goggles with the nose piece to keep her from writhing in agony. To help circumvent this, Pam also made the shampoo easy to rinse; that way, Harley wouldn't have to hold her breath for very long.

"You don't have to get _drunk_," Harley giggled, pushing her wet golden hair from her eyes. "I just think you might have fun…well, maybe not. Ya don't like crowds, is that it?"

"Partially," Pam admitted, nudging Harley forward so she could scrub the blonde's back. She frowned. "You have too many scars, sunshine."

Harley quivered when Pam's fingers gingerly traced a thick one that ran from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. If she didn't know better, she would attribute them all to the Joker, but she would be only half correct. It was dangerous, their line of work. Selina had her fair share of scars, too. When Pam gained one, they disappeared within days, due to her physiology, but they were constant from her gardening.

Harley had more than Selina and Ivy combined.

"You still think I'm pretty, though," she couldn't see, but she knew Harley's bottom lip was trembling. "Right?"

Pam leaned forward, and kissed Harley's sudsy back. "I've never stopped."

Once dry, Pam tucked Harley into bed, wrapping her in a separate blanket. Her hair was still damp, and the blonde had a tendency to get sick easily. Pam got in beside her, stroking the golden hair. Selina often joked about the habit after they saw _Tangled _at Harley's vehement request, comparing her to the character Mother Gothel ("But hotter, though, to be fair. Please don't hit me, I'm fragile, Pam-ba-lam.") and how she did the same with the interpretation of Rapunzel.

It was partially true; having contact with Harley, physical or otherwise, made Pam feel…not younger, like in the film, but more _alive_. It was vexing, however, to not be able to attribute the feeling to a spell. This was all Harley, and Harley's need for Pam to be more human than plant, despite Pam's outward desire for it to be opposite.

Day by day, it appeared Harley was winning, and perhaps Ivy was letting her.

Harley reached behind her, and her soft hand found Pam's face. "Kiss me goodnight?"

"Turn this way."

"Mm, no, my head hurts. Just kiss me."

"Then turn this way."

"_Red_," Harley sighed.

Pam, smirking, kissed Harley's arm. "There?"

"Nuh."

Another kiss, slightly farther down. "There?"

"Uh-uh."

At the fold of the elbow. "There?"

Harley was starting to shiver. "Nuh-uh."

The shoulder. "Th—"

"Damn it, Red." Harley rolled over and kissed Pam herself. The joke was on her, because she'd missed the redhead's mouth and gotten the chin instead. "_Damn it_, Red."

Pam, smirking, tucked Harley's head beneath her chin, holding that outstretched arm in her hand. There were scars here, too. Pam wondered darkly if some were self-inflicted, given the blonde's darker times with the purple-suited monstrosity, but couldn't detect a particular pattern. It didn't ease the feeling in her heart.

"I could get rid of these for you," Pam spoke against the skin of Harley's upturned wrist. "I could make a lotion, or an oil, and take them all away. Not the hurt, but the marks of it."

Harley's hand clenched into a fist. "No."

Pam blinked. "_No?_"

"They're," Harley drew in a breath, eyes glassy. "They're _part _of me."

Pam blinked again, knowingly. "Oh."

"Do you still think I'm beautiful?" Harley asked again, kissing Pam's neck. "With them? _Because _of them?"

Pam drew in a breath. "Yes."

"It's like your freckles," Harley took Pam's arm in her warm hands, always slightly shaky. Her fingertips traced and connected the patterns of speckles hard to detect unless you got close enough. Unless you were Harley. "They've been with ya a long time. They've been with you from when you were a kid, to now. Well, for me, my scars've been with me since I started my new life, from Harleen to Harley. They're not so good, but they're _me_. Like your pretty freckles, Red. And I love your freckles. All of them. Everywhere. I'd kiss them all if I could."

Pam, the dark feeling dissolving, smirked. "Why not? I've already kissed all your scars."

"What?" Harley went red in the cheeks.

"A dozen times over," Pam nodded. "Not all at once, that'd be excessive, but I've made sure to do it. Kiss each one. At least once."

Harley swallowed. "I'll do it!"

"Mm?"

"I'll kiss every freckle. Hand 'em over!"

"Harley, I was—"

"Even the ones on ya tummy."

"Harley, that's—"

"And the one's that're kinda flower-shaped on ya butt."

"Harley, I was k—wait, what? Harley? _Harley!_"

It was too late. Harley had already gotten it into her head, and she was ready to strike. Pam resigned herself to a long night of drunken kisses—not that it would be the first time, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. After all, she had quite a few freckles.


End file.
